Fright of your Life
by Supergeek-110
Summary: The Skarloey Railway is usually quite the cheerful place. But...dark incidents shroud its past. And the spirit of a ghostly engine doesn't want to stay dead. (Part of my ED AU)
1. Drowned

Duncan's whistle sounded in the darkness as he steadily huffed down the line, having just made his last slate delivery of the night. The mists were slowly rising around the iron bridge, and the chasm below made the whistle echo and bounce, sounding like the noise was coming from the very bottom. Duncan shivered as he crossed the Old Iron Bridge, remembering the story Rusty had once told him to give him a nasty fright.

 _"_ _It was a cold, misty night when the accident happened. A little engine was heading down the line, preparing to cross the old iron bridge. But, as he crossed, a rail suddenly buckled and snapped! It sent the little engine plunging down into the dark depths below! The little engine passed; he couldn't have survived a fall from that height. Now, this would have been a normal, although tragic, accident, if it hadn't been for a few things._

 _"_ _The body of the little engine was never recovered, some say it washed up on a riverbank and was stripped for parts by robbers, others say it simply vanished the instant it hit the muddy waters. A few pieces of the little engine were recovered, such as his whistle and his nameplate, but mysterious circumstances destroyed one of them. According to legend, the nameplate shook violently on the wall it had been hung on, and thrust itself into the blazing fire! Turning the flames into a bright glowing blue! The whistle, on the other hand, had been purchased by a railway enthusiast, who became terrified of it. He claimed that it was cursed, and would blow itself every night, at the time of the accident. Finally, on the thirteenth day, after letting off a mighty blast, he was sick of the horrible thing and sold it to the scrapyard on the other end of the island, where it reportedly goes off when engines pass under it._

 _"_ _Even to this day, rumors go around, and many a workman will tell you, that on the day of the accident, when the moon is full, they can just faintly see the little engine, trying to make it home, but he never reaches the other side."_

Duncan groaned and tried to forget about his memory. To this day he still couldn't believe Rusty had come up with such a detailed story simply to frighten him for teasing Peter Sam. Still though, for some reason, the story always made Duncan feel like he was being…watched, even though he knew it wasn't true. Duncan scoffed.

"Stupid story. Stupid Rusty! Tryin' t' spook meh with some silly tale he made up to sound scary! Not to me! Not to me!" Duncan said to himself. Suddenly, and very, very faintly, Duncan thought he heard laughter whisper in the wind. He stopped dead in his tracks and listened again. He was barely able to hear it, but there was certainly a distinctive laughing sound drifting through the breeze.

Duncan was about to forget about it and puff on simply believing it to be some children staying up late, when he heard a puffing sound that didn't sound like any of the engines that he knew.

Duncan gulped, "Just a story, just a story, no such thing as ghosts, no engine in an accident," He mumbled to himself trying to calm his nerves.

"Oh, really?" A voice laughed. Duncan jumped. "Well, I guess you've never heard the phrase, 'every story stems from some sort of truth', have you?" The outline of an engine slowly appeared, and Duncan saw who the voice belonged too. In front of him sat a young engine, a ghastly gray color, almost translucent, with a large scar running over his left eye. His whistle was nowhere to be seen and there was a pale rectangle on his side where a nameplate used to be. Duncan felt the color slowly drain from his face as he began to make the connection.

"Y-You're, You're the—" No! Duncan refused to believe that! He was seeing things, surely, he was seeing things! "Who are you?! What do you want!?" Duncan demanded to know.

The engine smiled softly and slowly, but, it wasn't a smile.

It was a smirk.

"My name is Franklin," He said. "But you can call me your worst nightmare because I'm here to have you understand exactly the kind of pain I felt,"

Before Duncan could speak, Franklin began to laugh, quiet and menacing.

"Tell me, do you know what it feels like to drown?" Franklin asked through the laughing, which Duncan noticed, didn't sound like Franklin was actually amused. Duncan slowly shook 'no' on his chassis.

"Well, it's like suffocating, but, _slower._ You keep fighting and fighting until you can't fight anymore. Another good comparison would be that—" Franklin said. Duncan suddenly felt his ability to breathe suddenly stop, every time he gasped for air, no breath came. "-All your air is suddenly CUT OFF." Duncan was choking, suffocating, _drowning._

Franklin was smiling as he watched Duncan suffer. While Duncan continued to try and fight, Franklin began speaking.

"You know the funny thing about ghosts? We're stronger the closer we are to the place of our death. Imagine that. The very thing that killed us in the first place is what gives us more power. The farther away we are, the weaker we become. Either way, we end up back at our place of death at some point." Franklin said. He paused for a moment.

"You know, it's odd seeing you suffer," Franklin remarked. "It reminds me of some quite…unfavorable memories that I'd rather forget about, mainly about my death. But on the other, I can see someone else feel the exact same thing that I did. Losing your friends, your railway, your LIFE."

Duncan was still struggling to breathe, with every failed attempt to breathe, Duncan could feel his life beginning to drain away. Duncan fought harder, refusing to slip away. Just as he was about to 'stop fighting', a whistle sounded in the distance. It was Sir Handel's whistle.

"Duncan? What's taking so long? Everyone at the sheds is wondering where you've gotten too! You were supposed to be back ages ago!" Sir Handel cried. Sir Handel hadn't yet come around the bend and hadn't seen Franklin yet. Franklin sent Duncan a glare, and the choking sensation began to die down.

"You get out of it this time, Duncan, but be warned," He said. "I know all about your little friends. And I'll be paying them a visit sooner than you think." Franklin disappeared, and Duncan finally felt the ability to breathe return. He gasped for air, coughing and choking as he did so.

Sir Handel came around the bend and looked at Duncan with considerable concern in his eyes.

"Duncan? You alright?" He asked, noting Duncan's pale face and wide eyes. "You look like you've just seen a ghost!" Duncan gulped and slowly looked up at Sir Handel.

"I-I just did…" He slowly said.


	2. Did you see that?

Sir Handel was leading a very shaken up Duncan back to the sheds, as Duncan refused to go back all on his own. Sir Handel rolled his eyes.

"Really, Duncan?" He asked.  
"Really what?" Duncan replied; confused.

"That is your explanation? 'I just did'? Duncan, if you're trying to scare me or something like that, it's going to take a lot more than just that to do the job, you know."

"But I'm not tryin' t' scare yeh! I swear on meh smokebox, Sir Handel, I saw one! I did!" Duncan insisted.

"Really?" Sir Handel asked sarcastically, smirking a bit. "Was it made of fireflies again?" Duncan blushed and growled.

"No! He was gray, and he had a big scar over his left eye! He had no whistle or Nameplate!" Duncan spat.

"Rusty has GOT to stop telling you those stories of his, you're really starting to believe them." Sir Handel said, rolling his eyes. Duncan glared, and didn't appreciate Sir Handel's remarks, but decided not to argue.

But, Duncan saw something in the corner of his eye. At the edge of the forest, poking out from a bit of abandoned line, was Franklin, grinning wildly. Duncan gasped.

"Sir Handel! Sir Handel! Look! That's him! There's t' engine!" Duncan cried. Sir Handel looked before scoffing.

"Nice try, Duncan."

"Huh?" Duncan had looked again, but Franklin was there no longer. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. Duncan blinked. "B-But…he was right there, I-I swear…" Duncan was starting to doubt himself. Was he just going crazy? Duncan felt inexplicably tired.

Sir Handel sighed. "Duncan, you've got to start getting some more sleep. I think it's starting to mess with your head. You're seeing things that aren't really there."

Duncan didn't know what to believe. One part of him wanted to believe Sir Handel. Surely, he was just tired, and seeing things as a result, and all of this would stop once he slept well. But, the other side knew this wasn't true. He had seen and felt what he'd seen and felt and it was not just exhaustion taking over.

Suddenly, the laughter in the wind came again.

"Too bad, Duncan, seems that Little Boy Blue beside you there doesn't believe you," Franklin's voice said. Duncan couldn't see Franklin, and Sir Handel hadn't heard him, so Duncan knew that Franklin must be speaking telepathically.

Duncan growled, "Get out of ma' head yeh wee gray devil," He hissed under his breath. Franklin cackled and sent chills through Duncan's boiler.

"Oh, I'd love too, it's funny to jump out and scare you engines, and I'd be quite humored by the look on your friend's face if I did, but I'm a bit far from the bridge. I can appear, but it wouldn't last for long." Franklin giggled. "At least, not without a host engine to possess."

"Filthy parasite," Duncan mumbled. "Yeh may be hidin' now, but yeh'll see, the others'll believe meh before yeh know it!"

"And until they do," Franklin said, pausing impressively. "I suppose they'll all think that you've gone a little crazy. Sweet dreams, Dunkie."

Arriving back at the sheds, Franklin had finally shut up and left Duncan alone, but Duncan was still glancing around, paranoid of seeing the ghostly gray engine appear at any moment.

It was late at night when they had returned, and everyone was asleep.

"Hey, Rusty, Rusty!" Sir Handel whispered. Rusty, being a light sleeper woke up.

"Yeah, Sir Handel?" Rusty yawned. "What's going on? What's the matter? I was having a pleasant dream, you know."

"Sorry, but I have to ask, have you been telling Duncan tall tales again?" Sir Handel asked. Rusty blinked.

"No, I haven't told Duncan a scary story since the 'fireflies' incident. I learned not to do it after he locked himself in his shed for two days afterward." Rusty said. Duncan blushed and rolled his eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"Ah, Duncan's been seeing things. He got spooked by something and claims that he saw a ghost and was mumbling to himself the whole way here."

"Don't worry about it, Duncan, I'm sure you've nothing to be afraid of. I'm sure you just need some more sleep. We all get spooked a bit easier when we're tired."

"But that's not why!" Duncan argued. "I saw a spirit! I did! He was on the Old Iron Bridge! He tried to suffocate meh, but Sir Handel arrived, and 'e backed off!"

"Oh, not the bridge again," Rusty mumbled, not opening his eyes. "I really, _really_ shouldn't have told you that story, should I, Duncan?"

"But—"

"Tell you what, Duncan, how about you sleep in the berth next to mine tonight? I'm sure you'll feel a lot less 'spooked' by the time morning comes 'round."

"O-Okay," Duncan mumbled, not wanting to argue Anymore. He slowly backed into the berth beside Rusty, and Sir Handel pulled into the remaining berth. Duncan slowly took a deep breath. "Hey, Rusty, one last thing,"  
"Mm?" Rusty asked.

"That story of yers, did an accident like that ever happen?"

Rusty thought for a moment.

"You know, I'm not sure how much of the story is true and how much of it is completely made up, but yeah, an accident like that did happen. Some poor little engine just went tumbling off that bridge years ago. He was young too," Rusty said. "Why?"

Duncan gulped, "Nae reason. Jus' curious. Thanks, Rusty. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Duncan." Rusty yawned, before going back to sleep. Laughter ever so slightly danced in the wind.

"Goodnight Duncan," Franklin's voice whispered, giggling as it did. "Don't let the ghost engines bite!"


	3. Sweet Dreams (Short)

Duncan was puffing down a strange, unfamiliar line in the forest. It looked like the Skarloey railway, but there were fewer buildings or junctions. His puffing didn't sound like his own, and he felt like a different engine entirely. Slowly, he puffed out of the woods and up to a station, where another engine was waiting. She was mostly white, with gold lining, and wheels, and had her name writing in gold cursive letters on her side: 'Angel'.

"Hello Angel," Duncan knew the voice had come from him, but he hadn't said it, and it wasn't his voice anyways. Angel looked over and giggling a little.

"Good evening, Franklin," She said. "You sure are looking awfully excited tonight,"

Franklin laughed, "I am excited, Angel!" He said. "Manager has given me my first big delivery train to make, and I'm pulling it tonight!"

"That's wonderful!" Angel beamed. But, slowly, she frowned. "But, where are you delivering it?"

"Over to Weslin Town. Why?" Franklin's voice asked.  
"Don't you have to cross that Old Iron Bridge to get there?" Angel asked him.

"If by 'Old Iron Bridge' you mean Marlin bridge, then yes, I do," Franklin said, letting out a mischievous laugh. "What's the matter with that?"

"I've never liked that old bridge, it never seemed safe to me. And recently with all that moaning and groaning it's been making every time an engine crosses it, I just don't trust it. I wish the workman would finish the road and get to fixing it already."  
"Oh, Angel, there's nothing to be worried for. You're getting all worked up over some silly bridge. It'll be fine."  
"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright then, well, good luck with your delivery!"

"Thank you! Good luck indeed!"

It was now night, and Duncan, or Franklin, was hurriedly puffing down the line, towards the old iron bridge. The moon was full and lit up the entire landscape in an eerie white glow. The mists were rising and twirling around the bridge, dancing in the air like a great mass of spirits. Duncan could hear the sounds of Franklin's puffing as they hurried down the line. Twisted trees, that looked much ghastlier in the low light, scrolled past. The trucks rattled behind Duncan/Franklin, jerking with any bump in the track.

It was calm and other than the sound of steam puffing and pistons pumping, it was silent. It was almost tranquil in a way, an occasional Autumn breeze skittering dry leaves across the tracks. Duncan heard Franklin's whistle go off as they began huffing across the bridge. Duncan knew what happened next, but could do nothing to stop it.

The tracks, and the bridge by extension began to loudly groan as if the weight on them were causing them great agony. Then, amidst the groans, came pops and creaks of metal on metal.

"Huh?" Franklin's voice said, sounding worried. "Wh-What's going o—" Before Franklin could finish his question, with one final, deafening pop, the track snapped! Throwing his left wheels off the tracks. Duncan felt the lurch as Franklin was thrown, and heard Franklin let out a scream of horror. Duncan watched in terror as the rushing waters grew closer and closer until they hit the water with a splash and everything went pitch black.

Duncan awoke with a start, jerking back. He was on land, safe and sound. He breathed heavily, and blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness. After he'd calmed down a bit, his brow furrowed.

"So that's what the prick meant by 'sweet dreams'." Duncan spat, hearing an ever-so-faint laugh in the breeze.


	4. Don't you believe us?

Later that same night, Franklin decided to have a bit of 'fun' with Sir Handel. The blue engine was snoozing quite comfortably in his shed, but he most certainly wouldn't be for much longer. Franklin slowly puffed up to him.

"Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn," Franklin whispered. "The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn,"

Sir Handel mumbled incoherently in his sleep, and slowly blinked his eyes open. He leapt back with a start at the sight of the unfamiliar engine in his shed.

"Shh, shh, shh," Franklin shushed. "Don't scream, you wouldn't want to wake the others, would you?"

"Who the hell are you?!" Sir Handel hissed. "How'd you get here? Who-Who are you? Y-You're barely any older than Luke!"

Franklin laughed a little. "I'm 147, counting the years that I wasn't-well, you'll see. About who I am," Franklin slowly smiled his familiar smirk. He closed his left eye, making his scar more apparent. "How about you take a wild guess? Go on."

Sir Handel suddenly went a bit pale.

"You…Y-You…" Sir Handel didn't want to believe it. He closed his eyes and panted to himself. " _I'm going crazy, I'm going crazy, I'm going crazy, Duncan told me that wild fib and now I'm seeing things,_ "

Franklin sucked his teeth. "Wild fib? That's not a very nice description. You know, not every outlandish thing you hear is made up. Oh, and was that Duncan you mentioned? I met Duncan, and from personal experience, he's not a fibber!" Franklin said. "Oh, and speaking of personal experience, I wanted to share one of mine with you."

Sir Handel furrowed his brow and was about to ask what Franklin meant. But, the words would not come. In fact, no air would come at all either! Sir Handel spluttered, but no breath came.

"One that I tried to share with Duncan," Franklin whispered darkly, his eyes flashing for a moment as a wild grin of malice slashed across his face.

Sir Handel finally realized what on Earth Duncan had meant when he'd said Franklin had 'choked' him. The breath had escaped him, and he could not retrieve it. His vision went a little fuzzy, but Sir Handel attempted to shake it off.

"Dun…can…help…me," Sir Handel gasped. He went blue in the face, and everything was fading out when the feeling suddenly died down a bit. Franklin was straining and panting, going red in the face in the effort of keeping the act going.

"N-No!" He wheezed, struggling more. "No! I c-can't be r-r-running out of e-energy!" Franklin insisted, though he was appearing a bit hazy now, and was fading in and out of view.

Franklin growled, "Your st-stupid sheds are t-too far from the-from the bridge!" Franklin gasped, finally he could fight no longer and gave up trying. Sir Handel felt his breath return to him and immediately gulped in big swallows of air, afraid he might not be able to again.

Franklin had disappeared, leaving behind a swirl of gray mist in his wake. He had reappeared at the bridge, not that Sir Handel would know that.

Sir Handel, still shaken from the experience, breathed heavily.

"Duncan, D-Duncan! Duncan wake up!" He hissed at the sleeping engine. Duncan groaned and opened his eyes, not pleased with having been awoken for the second time that night.

" _What? What do you want?_ " Duncan whined. " _I'm tirrredddd,_ "

"I don't care! This is more serious than sleep! Franklin came, he choked me as he choked you!" Sir Handel said, hyperventilating in terror. Duncan's eyes widened. Before changing into a cocky expression.

"I told you so," He mumbled. Sir Handel fumed.

"Oh, for God's sake! _YES,_ you told me so! _YES,_ I should have listened! Can we get over this now?!" Sir Handel spat. He took a deep breath. "So…this is clearly becoming a problem. What should we do?"

Duncan thought for a moment, "I don't know, Sir Handel, I just don't know."

The next morning, Duncan and Sir Handel attempted to tell the other engines of their paranormal experiences.

"It's true! It's true, I tell you!" Sir Handel insisted. "Duncan was telling the truth! That spirit is a _maniac!_ You've got to believe us!"

"Aye! He tried t' kill us, he did! He had a big scar on his left eye! We've both seen him, don't yeh believe us?" Duncan said.

Luke was getting awfully excited, "I do! I do! I do! I believe you! What was he like? Was he scary? Could you see through him?!"

"Alright, that is quite enough!" Skarloey bellowed, trying to stop the chaos. "Now, both of you, stop telling your tall tales this instant! You're going to give Luke nightmares if you keep it up! I don't know what influenced you two to come up with such outlandish lands, but I'm putting an end to it. I don't want to hear another word about ghosts, or spirits, or paranormal things of any kind!" Skarloey said. Peter Sam was snickering at the back.

"Something funny to you, Stuart?" Sir Handel snapped.

"Y-Yeah!" Peter Sam laughed. "A ghost? _Really?_ What else did you see? Bigfoot? The Loch Ness Monster? Medusa? A siren? A moth man?" Peter Sam said, mocking both of them. Sir Handel went a bit red.

"I'll have you know well and good, brother, that we're telling you the truth and nothing but the truth. If you're not willing to believe us, then that's your choice, but I don't think you'll be laughing so much when you see a spook!" Sir Handel said. Peter Sam rolled his eyes.

"Mm-hm. Excellent attempt to scare me." He said sarcastically, holding back a laugh. "By the way, tell me if you find one of your fairy tale monsters!" He laughed, puffing away from them.


	5. Possession

Late that very same night, Peter Sam was having trouble falling asleep. No matter how he tried, he just couldn't close his eyes. Peter Sam realized the reason, it was too hot in the sheds. He decided that it'd be much more comfortable to sleep out on a cool siding rather than stay in this bath of heat for the night and set off to find one.

He pulled into a cozy little siding and felt much more comfortable. Just as he was settling down to sleep though, he heard an eerie whisper in the wind.

" _Found you,_ "

Peter Sam was creeped out at first, a set of chills running down his frame.

"Hello?" He whispered, alarmed. No reply came. Peter Sam scoffed. "Sir Handel, Duncan, come out of wherever you're both hiding, it's not going to work!"

No answer came, no puffing was heard, not even a single breath could be noticed.

Peter Sam raised an eyebrow. "Hello? I'm talking to you! This is so petty and dumb, just come out of hiding already, I know that it's you." But they didn't come.

Instead, a loud maniacal cackle cut through the air, startling Peter Sam. Peter Sam went pale. That didn't sound like Sir Handel or Duncan. In fact, it didn't sound like anyone Peter Sam knew at all!

A swirl of silvery gray mists spilled onto the tracks in front of Peter Sam, and a ghastly gray engine appeared. The gray engine laughed, making the scar over his eye more apparent.

"Hello, Peter Sam," The gray engine whispered. "I heard that you didn't believe in ghost stories."  
Peter Sam was frozen with fear and couldn't utter a single word, or make a single noise. He wanted to scream, but no sound came out.

"Maybe you will after this," The engine said. With a rush of speed, he raced into Peter Sam and everything went black.

Meanwhile, Luke was sleeping at the sheds, as he didn't find the heat as bad as Peter Sam seemed to. He was dozing peacefully when he awoke to the sound of an engine puffing around.

"Huh?" Luke mumbled. No late-night deliveries were supposed to come in tonight, and the other engines were still fast asleep. Luke shrugged it off and was about to fall back asleep when he noticed that the puffing sound seemed to be growing closer.

Peter Sam came around the bend, revealed to be the maker of said noise. Luke sighed with relief.

"What are you doing back so early, Peter Sam? I thought you said that the sheds were too hot for you," Luke asked. Peter Sam didn't answer him. In fact, Peter Sam didn't even make eye contact with him. Just then, Luke noticed something very, _very_ wrong with Peter Sam.

Peter Sam's eyes were pitch-black, with white pupils that almost seemed to glow. Luke was horrified.

"Wh-What happened to you?" Luke stammered, growing increasingly nervous. Peter Sam laughed a laugh that was not his own.

"Oh, Shamrock, you really don't get it, do you?" Peter Sam asked in a strange voice. Frightened at this point, Luke shook 'no' on his chassis.

"Who are you?" Luke asked. "And what are you doing with my friend?"

The strange Peter Sam didn't answer, but as he smirked, something flashed that was not there before. A large scar over his left eye. Luke went whiter than cream.

"Y-You're the…the ghost! The one that Duncan and Sir Handel were talking about! They-They were telling the truth!"

"Well, well, well," He said. "Aren't you quick? But let's not leave our introductions at 'ghost'. Tell me your name."

The last thing in the world that Luke wanted to do was tell this ghost his name. But he was too afraid of what he might do if he didn't comply, so did as he was told.

"M-My name's L-L-Luke," Luke stuttered.

"Franklin," The ghost said.

"G-Good," Luke said. "Now-Now tell me what you're doing with my friend!"

"Temper, temper, temper, Lukas," Franklin teased. "I'll tell you, I have many powers, but they work better when I'm near the bridge, the farther I get, the weaker they are. Unless—" Franklin said, pausing impressively.

"Unless what?" Luke asked.

"Unless I have a vessel to…oh, what's the word? _Possess._ " Franklin said, something malicious flashing in his eyes. Luke's eyes widened with terror.

"You-You-You _possessed_ Peter Sam?!" Luke cried, terrified. "L-Leave him alone! Get out of his body right now! You-You-You-You miserable slimy scum!" Luke screamed.

"Well, well!" Franklin said. "Aren't you good at insulting me? Too bad insults won't get you very far,"

Luke felt his air be cut off, and violently thrashed, trying to fight away, but the feeling only worsened.

"Time's running out, Lukas," Franklin grinned. "Better hurry, the clock's ticking, tick-tock, tick-tock!"

Peter Sam couldn't see anything, but he could hear everything. Luke's questioning, Franklin's snarky answers, but true horror had come upon him when he'd heard Luke go deathly silent.

"Luke?" Peter Sam had whispered from wherever he was from. "Luke? LUKE? LUKE?!" Peter Sam was beginning to panic, shouting Luke's name. He fought to see him, fought to see the little green engine and assure himself that Luke was alright.

He finally fought hard enough and began to get fleeting glances of Luke in between periods of darkness. Luke was choking and gasping, unable to breathe. Tears formed in his eyes, but Luke did not cry. Peter Sam was horrified.

"No! _NO!_ YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE! HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!" Peter Sam began screaming at the top of his lungs. "IT'S ME YOU WANT, NOT HIM!"

Peter Sam struggled to gain control.

Meanwhile, Luke was noticing something odd. Occasionally, Franklin's eye would twitch, or he'd jerk on his chassis as if he were fighting against some unseen force. Franklin looked fierce.

"No, you little green demon," Franklin spat, but not at Luke. " _I'M_ in control! You don't get a say!"

Suddenly Franklin let out a shout, and the air returned to Luke. Luke gasped, grateful to be breathing in the first place. Franklin had gone from Peter Sam, disappeared in a cloud of cold, dark, swirling mists. Peter Sam blinked, feeling delirious and woozy from being unattached from his body for so long.

Once Peter Sam had snapped out of it, he saw how frightened Luke looked and, though he'd done nothing wrong himself, immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

"O-Oh, Luke, Oh, Luke, I'm so sorry," Peter Sam breathed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for-oh my god," Peter Sam's emotions were all mixed up and he wasn't sure what he was feeling.

Contempt for Franklin?

Guilt for Franklin's actions?

Fear of him returning?

Sorrow and empathy for Luke?

Peter Sam didn't know what to say, but he didn't need to say anything.

"Peter Sam," Luke said. "I think that ghost is a lot angrier than-than we thought."

"Me too," Peter Sam said, sighing a bit.

"P-Peter Sam?"

"Y-Yes?"

"I'm scared."

Peter Sam was silent for a moment.

"Me too, kid,"


	6. What really happened

Luke slept with Peter Sam in his shed that night. Both were nervous. And both had trouble sleeping that night.

The next morning, the pair had told Duncan and Sir Handel of their experiences, and they all agreed to confront the other engines about it, because, as Sir Handel put it:

"Surely they're likelier to believe us if four of us claim the same thing! Especially when Peter Sam made it clear before that he didn't believe us."

They decided to make their case.

"Four of us!" Sir Handel cried to the other engines. "Four of us have seen this thing already! How can you not believe us?!"

"I got possessed by him for Christ's sake!" Peter Sam shouted, shivering uncomfortably at the memory.

"He choked all of us but Peter Sam! Sir Handel would've died if he hadn't gotten tuckered out and quit fer goodness sake!"

Luke was in quite the flurry, "He's real I tell you! He's real! He's real! He's gray and ghostly, and he's horrible!" He squealed. Skarloey had had quite enough.

"Alright, alright, enough! Everyone needs to calm down and listen to me!" Skarloey ordered. "I don't know what is going on with all of you and this ghost business, I don't know if you're trying to be funny, or if it's all in your imagination, but I am sick and tired of your nonsense! Help me out here, Rheneas."

Rheneas bit his lip and hissed in a breath.

"Well, I'm-I'm not so sure, Skarloey."

"What?"

"I want to agree with you, but, like I've heard so many times before, every bit of fiction stemmed from some sort of fact. Maybe their story isn't all stuff and nonsense." Rheneas pointed out. Rusty agreed.

"Yeah, Skarloey, there _was_ an engine who really did fall off that bridge. I'm not so sure it'd be that much of a stretch to say that his ghost still rides the rails." Rusty said. Skarloey groaned, his patience beginning to wear thin.

"Oh, for goodness sake! Not you two as well!" Skarloey was fed up. "Duke, please, could you talk some sense into everyone?"

Duke, who had been napping just moments ago, opened one eye.

"What sense is there to talk into?" He asked, to everyone's immediate surprise. "Duncan, you did say that ghost engines name was Franklin, didn't you?"

"I did," Duncan confirmed.

"Well, then. Each and every one of them is telling the truth. That old engine, the one that fell off that bridge so long ago? That was his name."

Skarloey scoffed, "And how on earth would you even know that?"

"I don't know, maybe the fact that I worked on his railway once."

"You _what?_ " The engines all said in surprise.

"Yes. This very railway here, it didn't use to be like this. Even before you arrived here Skarloey, it used to be the Andi railway. I'll tell you the story.

 _"_ _A few engines used to work on the Andi railway, but not many. But, one of those engines, was a young, spry one, named Franklin. I don't know if he was like that personally, I never got to meet him, because-well, you know._

 _I found out about Franklin from the other engines. He was pulling a long freight train one night. It was foggy and dark, but he was determined to get the job done. But the old iron was in bad condition, the workmen were too busy working on a damaged road nearby to take notice of the damage, and no danger signs were put up._

 _You lot all know how the rest of the story goes after all._

 _He was never recovered fully, but I know that they did find his nameplate. It got burnt in a fire. After it had thrown itself off the wall._

 _My driver found his nameplate. He saw something shining up from the bottom of the ravine and just had to see what it was. We didn't realize the significance of it at first and went around asking if any engine named Franklin had lost his nameplate. All of a sudden, as we were asking around, a little white and gold engine went utterly pale. We asked her what was wrong, and she told us that Franklin had died three weeks before. After falling into the Ravine._

 _As a symbol of respect, they hung it up on the wall in the stationmaster's common room. But, that very night, as a station master sipped his tea inside, something happened. The nameplate began violently shaking on the wall, and the poor stationmaster watched as it flung itself into the flames, turning them bright blue._

 _Apparently, Franklin wasn't pleased by their symbol of gratitude."_

The other engines were amazed at Duke's story. All except-

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Skarloey snapped. "Ghosts, nightmares, stories, I'm sick of it! All of it! That it. I'm sleeping on a siding until you've all had a moment to think and regain your common sense." And he did. Skarloey stormed off in a cloud of steam and didn't say another word to the other engines there.


	7. Danger

When the sun had fully set, and the moon was but a sliver of silver light in the sky darker than ink, Skarloey was puffing down the line. He was muttering and ranting to himself in a hushed tone, not really caring where he wound up going.

"Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense! Ghosts, haunted bridges, chokings, all of it!" Skarloey huffed to himself. "They're trying to trick me, I just know it. 'There's a ghost, Skarloey!' They say. 'It tried to choke me, Skarloey!' All of it utter tish-tosh! I don't know what they are playing at but it's starting to get on my nerves at this point!"

The place he ending up in turned out to be the iron bridge. Skarloey didn't notice that he had arrived at the old iron bridge until he was already on it. He sighed and rolled his eyes. He heard faint puffing coming from behind him.

"That isn't going to work Duncan." No reply came. "Sir Handel? Peter Sam? Luke?" Still no response. "D-Duke? Rusty? Rh-Rheneas?" Just as Skarloey was about to hurry ahead, an ear-splitting, bone-chilling cackle came from right behind him.

" _AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!_ "

Skarloey nearly leapt off the rails in fright, and looked around frantically.

"Who is that?! Reveal yourself!" Skarloey cried.

"You sure you want that, old-timer?" A voice taunted him.

"On with it!"

"Your choice," The voice laughed. "Don't say I didn't try and warn you!"

With a swirl of cold, dark mist, something was forming. Skarloey looked on in horror as Franklin materialized from the fog.

"I did try to warn you," He laughed, finding the look of terror on Skarloey's face amusing.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," Skarloey breathed. He looked all over the engine. No nameplate. No whistle. Number plate blank. And a large, gashing scar running over his left eye, going down to his left cheek. "You're…you are…" Skarloey shook his chassis slowly, trying to process everything. "Who are you?"

"Oh, poor old Skarloey. I think you know _exactly_ who I am. Don't you?" Franklin said, laughing slowly and quietly. "Don't play dumb."

Skarloey didn't want to believe it, he truly didn't. But he knew there wasn't any other explanation for it.

"You're Franklin…" He finally admitted. "B-But-But you're just a-just an old myth!" Skarloey cried. Franklin's expression was an odd one. Most of his expression seemed angry and insulted, but in his eyes, for just a moment, pain and sadness flashed.

"Oh. A myth, huh? That's what you think I am? I that all _anyone_ thinks I am?!" Franklin growled, his voice slowly increasing in volume and intensity. "You think I don't know that nobody still remembers me?! You think I'm too STUPID to realize that, don't you!?"

"N-No! That's not what I was—"

Franklin didn't care for Skarloey's explanations.

"A myth! A _MYTH!_ THAT'S ALL I AM, HUH?! Well, could a myth do THIS?!"

Skarloey felt an immense pressure on his boiler. A very uncomfortable pressure.

"O-Ow!" Skarloey winced. "Stop that!"

"COULD A MYTH DO _THIS?_ "

The pressure increased and began to form a deep indent.

"OW! Stop it!" Skarloey cried. "That hurts!" But it didn't stop, and more and more dents were forming on Skarloey's boiler, causing small tears to form in his eyes.

"COULD A MYTH POSSIBLY _CRUSH. YOUR. BOILER?!_ HUH?! COULD A MYTH DO THAT?!" Franklin was screaming, feeling no need to hold back his emotions anymore.

Skarloey heard metal creak as more and more deep dents formed.

"AHH! STOP THAT! PLEASE! YOU'RE HURTING ME!" Skarloey begged.

His voice shaking with emotion, Franklin snapped.

"Your little friends can't save you now!" Franklin screeched.

"I think we _can!_ " Shouted a voice. Peter Sam stood heroically at the end of the bridge, looking Franklin down the same way a bull looks at a matador. " _CHARGE!_ " He cried, surging forwards toward Franklin at top speed. Peter Sam went right through Franklin as if he were air.

Franklin rolled his eyes, "Hey, moron, I'm a ghost."

"Forgot that." Peter Sam mumbled, blushing just a bit at his forgetfulness. "But _we_ aren't afraid of you anymore, Franklin!"

"We?" Franklin asked.

The whole narrow-gauge fleet, haunted or not haunted, all came out of hiding.

"Stand down, Franklin!"  
"We've got you surrounded!"  
"Don't do anything rash!"

"We aren't afraid of you any longer!" Luke cried. Franklin looked at them all for a moment, his eyes dull. Then, he laughed darkly.

"Not afraid…?" He asked, chuckling. "Oh, you should be." He said ominously. He closed his eyes tightly, and then, they snapped open. His eyes were glowing bright white.

Everyone jumped as Luke let out a yelp of pain, and soon began to feel it themselves. Dents were now forming on their boilers as well. Not only that, but the engines were feeling a searing heat spreading across their buffer-beams as small burns began to appear on them. Long white scratches streaked and striped their smokeboxes. They were all letting out hisses of pain as Franklin cackled maniacally.


End file.
